


Winds of Winter

by Kurohitenshi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Book 6: The Winds of Winter, F/M, Incest, Introspection, King Jon Snow, POV Jon Snow, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurohitenshi/pseuds/Kurohitenshi
Summary: For Jonrya Week 2020: Day 3 - TouchA snowstorm keeps all the inhabitants of Winterfell Castle indoors. Jon has a rare moment of keeping Arya for himself.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 160
Collections: Jonrya Week: January 2020





	Winds of Winter

Outside the window of the lord's solar, a relentless winter wind caused snowflakes to whip wildly and the shutters to rattle loudly. Jon sat at his desk, trying desperately to concentrate on the letters in front of him. His eyes kept drifting up to the young maiden in front of the hearth.

Arya was dressed in a white linen sleeping gown, her arms crossed in front of her body as the fire's light illuminated her pretty Northern face. At her feet, Ghost and Nymeria were dozing off quietly, monstrous in size in comparison to her small form.

She was antsy at not being able to go out today, to practice using Needle with Brienne of Tarth and the boys: Jon's page Dryn, Brienne's squire Podrick, and her blacksmith friend Gendry. The fierce snow storm had bound them all indoors, and for that, Jon was thankful in a way. Their guests, who were housed in different buildings, were snowed in, as was the main Stark family in this one.

For once, he could keep Arya all to himself, just like when they were much younger, when her whole world seemed to just be Jon. After her return, Jon had to face the fact that something in her had changed drastically, just like it had in him. And she had grown _so much_.

It was almost too painful to bear, to see that her childhood had left her far too soon, that she had been forced to grow up so quickly while on the run, during the War of the Five Kings and the mysterious years of absence that she had not spoken about yet. He could only imagine what she's seen while she was trying to survive through the war as a little girl.

_She is a survivor. That is all I know. The rest are shadows. The rest are secrets._

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

Sighing deeply, Jon tried to concentrate on the letters in front of him. Each one was of the same vein - letters offering betrothals to the young maiden She-Wolf of Winterfell. Not for Lady Sansa Lannister who had recently been reunited with her lord husband Tyrion, but of his favourite, Arya. _My little sister._

Gritting his teeth and suppressing the urge to growl like a feral wolf, Jon stood from the table and went to her, carrying the stack of letters in his burnt hand. She looked up at him with curiosity, eyeing the letters in his grasp. Jon found himself staring into her grey eyes that were so similar to his own, feeling almost lost for a moment. And then he drew his eyes away as he threw the letters into the fire, wishing he could burn every single man who wanted to claim her as easily as their letters.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Arya asked gently.

"No," he said.

When Jon looked back at her, she was staring back at the fire. Without her eyes on him, his gaze could linger just a little longer. He studied her now, trying to take in all the details: her short hair that fell only until her chin, her solemn face, and the rigid posture of her skinny body. The exposed skin of her arms and legs were goose-fleshed, and her white linen sleeping gown was unsuitable for this weather, too thin as her bare nipples pebbled underneath so that he could see its shape. She was a young maiden now, but so unaware of what was proper and expected of her.

_If Lady Catelyn could see you at this moment, little sister, she would probably bend you over and smack your rear._

But the Lady of Winterfell was dead and gone, like most of their family.

_Does it fall to me to discipline you now? I can't..._

Jon wondered if he should be the one to broach the subject or if he should let it be, about matters of propriety. Arya had never been very proper, and it was just her and Jon here besides. Jon was her big brother and had seen everything beneath her clothes far too many times when they were children. And there was never any secrets between them in the past. It makes no matter if he saw the hint of her intimate body now. It makes no matter if he saw even more.

Not that Jon wished to do so.

He tore his eyes away from her quickly, heart pounding and feeling odd at his thoughts. He went back to his desk to review other letters that related more to the running of the North. In the background, Arya was telling him about things she's seen in the castle, from vital information she had eavesdropped on to reliable gossip from the castle staff. He took note of her information and jotted some of the ones that sounded more vital.

Enjoying her company, Jon smiled gently as he worked and sometimes, he would chat with her, especially when they reminisced about the past: about childhood memories ranging from playing pranks on Theon, to elaborate make-believe games where he had been Aemon the Dragonknight and she Visenya the Dragon Queen, and even the delicious scent of freshly-baked bread and blackberry tarts. She was always good company to have, and they did not always have the opportunity to be alone together.

As King, Jon had endless responsibilities that he cannot ignore. And they had so many guests who had gone North to help out with the impending war against the Others. Among those, Daenerys the Dragon Queen took up most of his time, drawing him away from time he expected to spend more with Arya and Bran - family he loved and had lost for far too long. It was almost a blessing that the Dragon Queen had been housed in a separate building, with her army and retinue. For once, he could give all his attention to his little sister.

_This day could be ours alone._

Jon blinked in surprise as he realised that his chambers had been silent for a while now, and it had become so dark too as night fell. He raised his eyes towards the hearth and was startled to find that Arya was gone. He looked around in bewilderment and sighed in relief when he found her on his bed, lying down with her eyes closed. Was she asleep?

Without realising his actions, Jon was up immediately. He went to her to cover her in furs but then paused before she was covered completely. For a sinful moment, his eyes roamed her lithe body, studying all the little things that made her into a young maiden, no longer a child. It made him swallow nervously before he covered her body.

And for another heartbeat, he admired her lovely face, which looked soft and young in slumber. He leaned down to press his lips on her forehead, inhaling the clean scent of her skin which smelled like soap, pine, wildflowers and winter roses. She smelled so familiar, like home, comfort, and the nostalgic memory of their shared childhood when they had loved each other _so_ much.

 _I've missed that face so much,_ he mused with a gentle smile.

Jon didn't know what came over him but he found himself lying next to her, covering his own body with furs as he observed her. It had been so long since he had a chance to just watch her and be so close to her, as if they were children once again who thought nothing of sharing each other's bed at night, whenever they felt like it. Her breaths were even and steady, and she slept deeply, as if her body had finally succumbed to exhaustion which she had ignored for so long.

_You've traveled so far to come home to me, little sister. You did so well._

Carefully, very carefully, Jon reached out and touched her hair, tucking unruly strands behind her ear. He was very hesitant as he ran his fingers through her locks. He wondered why she wore her hair so short that it didn't even reach her shoulders, but she looked pretty nonetheless. Touching her hair had long been something they both enjoyed, and something he had missed so much. He used to always muss it, making it even more of a mess because it was always so tangled like a bird's nest.

But now, she had a foreign touch to her, a delicate beauty that had been honed from a distant exotic land. Her hair was always combed now, and her face always clean. When she wasn't out there sparring with the boys, Sansa would force her into pretty winter dresses with pelts of fur around the collar, which she endured surprisingly well. Arya looked even more lovely now, a true Northern beauty with the Stark looks.

That was probably why she had so many admirers now.

Jon frowned unhappily. Unconsciously, he found himself drawing closer to her so that their bodies were nearly touching. After just getting her back, Jon was not prepared to ever let her go again. He couldn't fathom if he could ever bear it when that day ever came.

Suddenly he remembered the boys and men who had finally begun to see what Jon had seen all along, long before anyone else gave her a second glance.

He remembered Tormund's young son Dryn who was close to her age and who was always japing with her, teasing her about her admirers. He recalled knights from far away who gave her lingering looks, or squires who became too friendly. He recalled a bastard smith who kept hovering around her.

Jon's entire body became rigid as he remembered Gendry Waters, the young smith who now worked at Winterfell's forge. He was ever so friendly to his little sister, far too friendly. Gritting his teeth, Jon had watched from the covered bridge atop the courtyard as the smith touched her shoulder familiarly as if he was closer to her than even Jon. The bastard's hand lingered on her longer than was proper.

 _That he would even dare touch her!_ Jon had wanted to fly down from the bridge like a crow, to look the bastard in the eye and challenge and defeat him in a duel. His little sister's honour was not to be trifled with.

But the moment's rage immediately dissipated when Arya suddenly looked up and met his eyes. She beamed up at him, joy and love in her eyes at merely seeing him.

Next to her, Gendry looked up too and was stunned to see him. His face had flushed in embarrassment and his hand fell away from Arya's shoulder immediately. When his eyes met Jon's, there was guilt there, and he looked away immediately in fear. Jon felt vindicated, even as he also felt suspicion. What was Gendry's intention with his little sister?

Presently, Jon was almost startled because he found that as he had been lost in his thoughts, his arms had wrapped around Arya. He had pulled her unconscious form to his chest, felt her cool exposed skin and tried to warm her with his own body. She was so small and skinny; she had probably lived in a malnourished state for years because she had been forced to live at the mercy of others in a wartorn region. Jon was unprepared to know what she had gone through, so far away from home. If only they could both pretend that they were still the same people from years ago when they had both been untouched by war and tragedy.

But in a way, this was good too. Everything was a trial now because of their duties and responsibilities. And yet, Jon was a King who now had the power to protect her. She was under his protection and he will not marry her off to some unworthy lord who would never deserve her.

Unfortunately, that was only one of far too many dangers. There was also an upcoming war, and it was a war she seemed determined to be a part of.

Jon buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of soap and winter roses. _How can I keep protecting you if you keep insisting on being so fierce and willful, little sister?_

He thought of all the letters offering betrothals for her from lords all over the North, of the knights who eyed her as a lovely maiden, and of Gendry Waters who dared to touch her as if she was his. How dare the bastard think that when Arya had been Jon's from the very start? Before they left home and before anyone else took a second glance at either of them, it was only ever just the two of them. Two outcasts against the world, the bastard and the misfit little girl. And Jon never wanted that to change, never wanted her to leave ever again.

 _I love you, little sister,_ he thought forlornly as he stared at the smooth skin of her forehead, the chestnut brown locks framing her face, and the long lashes of her shut eyes. Her lips looked supple as sin and soft like a rose petal. Without meaning to, Jon closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that seemed almost innocent. Her lips were warm and familiar because they used to always rain kisses all over his face.

With a start, Jon's eyes widened as he drew away from her lips. His heart was beating so rapidly inside his chest and he found that his hands were nearly shaking even as he still held her close.

 _What am I doing?_ Jon thought in dawning horror. He dared not move away from her though, as he still longed so deeply for her.

And suddenly, he recalled that they were lying together in the lord's chambers, where their lord father Eddard and Lady Catelyn used to lie together as husband and wife. And he couldn't help but imagine a future where he and Arya lived together in this same room as well, as husband and wife, and with a brood of five or more children from their union. It would be days full of happiness, of little faces with Northern looks, like Lord Eddard's, Jon's, and Arya's. They were to become the King and Queen in the North, with their brood of little princes and princesses.

But then he remembered that they were brother and sister and his heart fell into despair.

Before he fell asleep that night, with his little sister tucked securely in the circle of his arms, he prayed dearly to the old gods. He wished to somehow have a future with Arya, to find a way to always have her by his side. If that meant that Jon wouldn't ever marry, with Arya seen only as his closest council in the eyes of the North, then so be it...

Morning came and Jon woke alone, with only the scent of winter roses lingering on the pillow next to his. Deep agony seized his heart as he missed his little sister so much even now. He realised the horrible truth he had been trying desperately to deny.

He loved her, in all the ways that a brother shouldn't love a sister. But he couldn't do anything to stop it. True love for her had been ingrained in him since he was still a child, but it had been corrupted by his questionable morality, which had long departed him when he had died at Castle Black for her, then rose again as a half-wolf abomination. Feral, he had been obsessed with Arya since he came back to life. He feared that one day, the wolf will take over his humanity to lay claim its bride.

_I will never let you go again, little sister. Not ever again._

As the cold winter winds blew snowflakes outside the castle, promising another day when he could possibly spend rare precious time with his little sister, inside his mind and his heart, darkness plagued him as the feral wolf howled its obsessive manta:

_I want my bride back._

**Author's Note:**

> Almost deleted this fic, but hopefully someone may like it. :)


End file.
